The funniest part is
you have no idea.
god
why do I still do this
why do I still
let myself fall
let myself crash
when I know damn well
how it’s going to end.
it’s a cycle.
maybe it’s always changing
or maybe it’s staying the fucking same.
either I’ll cry
over the smell of your fabric softener
every twinkling smirk
all the times I’ve fallen asleep in your lap
or in your bed
every arm around my shoulder and
every stupid sex joke
every hug that lasted far too long
all your shirts I’ve worn
your arguing to hold my hand in the hallway even though
my hands are sweaty and you know I hate that.
or I’ll keep deluding myself
so that I don’t have to feel that awful heavy tightness
tangling up in knots behind my ribs.
christ.
it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
wasn’t I supposed to burn
a fever
a happy ending?
I wasn’t supposed
to bleed.
or I move on.
I let go
I find someone else
someone short and curved and dark haired,
and I laugh at the days when
I pined so helplessly over you
my best
friend.
but I’m stuck.
you wield the knife and
I’m bleeding out for you.
I’m at your fucking mercy
and
you
don’t
even
know.
—By Mimi, 15, Portland ♦